“Okay, good.” I tap my comms and give the signal. “I love iced tea.”
A posh British voice crackles over the line. “Iced tea, you say? An abomination. It was better when you lot chucked it straight into the harbor.”
Ant’s smile, despite everything, calms my nerves. “Where are you, old chap?” I ask as I kiss his forehead.
The line on Tolly’s end clears. “We just finished docking. Are we still good with the plan?”
“So far, so good. Looks like most of what I need to take out is in the main building. I’ll set up the explosives in the main areas while your men get into place, then we’ll take out the trash.”
Ex. Plo. Sives.Ant mouths as he shimmies his shoulders, his eyes widening in excitement. I send him a wink, and he discreetly palms himself. Crouching down, he unhooks the keychain from the dead guy’s waist.
“Oh, how thoughtful,” he crows as I shove the body under the desk. “The keys are color-coded.”
With a quick kiss, I send Ant and his color-coded keys through the door that once housed all his nightmares, and I make my way to the main building.
Time to blow this place sky-high.
19
ANT
I’m quiet as I let myself into the large multipurpose space, knowing these little ones are on constant alert.
Seeing it now through adult eyes is another reminder of how awful this all really was—and still is. Nothing has changed. Against the far wall are the same ten sets of bunk beds. The other half of the space is split between a stocked kitchen and a living room. Teddy bears, baby dolls, and condoms are out on the counters, just like before.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted, and we haven’t even begun.
There are a dozen kids in here, which means there’s probably another handful scattered about the complex. Nobody says anything or looks in my direction, and I vividly remember hoping that by avoiding eye contact, I wouldn’t get picked.
That hardly ever worked.
“Who are you?”
I jump at the too-close voice and spin to face an enormous guard. I lose my breath as I recognize him.
Erik was right. Not all of them werejohns.
“You look familiar. Have you been here before?”
Falling into character, I blink at him and lean into my Mexican accent as I answer in a high, breathy voice, “No hablo English. I sorry.”
“Hm,” he says, running his grubby hand along my bare arm. “I usually like the younger ones, but you’re cute.”
That was something I heard a lot, despite how young I’d looked at the time. It was a sentence that always chilled me to the bone. Still does.
I bite my lower lip, push down the bile, and clasp my hands in front of me. He goes in for a gross kiss, and I raise my still-joined hands, using their connection as leverage to viciously elbow him in the balls. He cries out, so I break his larynx and then his nose.
Spinning my curved blade in my palm, I shove it into his temple. Unlike Erik’s elegant little trick with New Orleans, this guy dies instantly. Damn, probably should’ve used the stiletto. Ah well. Plenty of bad guys to practice on.
A quiet gasp fills the space, and I look up to find a bunch of small faces with fear-widened eyes. It’s possible that murdering a bad guy while wearing a gingham dress and pigtails might not make me come across as a good guy. Or particularly sane, for that matter.
I set the knife on the counter and hold up my hands.
“Quien hablan español?”
Who speaks Spanish?
Ten of the kids shakily raise their hands. The other two kids look Asian, but I’m not sure how to ask about their language. I pull my phone from my other pocket and open the translation app. I hit the Hello button until the little boy responds to the Thai prompt and the little girl responds to the Korean. I speak in Spanish and let the translation give the message, first in Thai, then in Korean.
